God Only Knows
by Lil black dog
Summary: This is a companion piece to Mackenzie Calhoun's brilliant "When I Grow Up (To Be a Man)" and was written for the TToT 2014 Steal All the Toys challenge. In Mac's AU series, Gary Mitchell-Lifeguard, Gary washed out of the Academy during his first year and took a job as a lifeguard on the beaches of San Francisco. More details inside. Gary Mitchell.


A/N: This is a companion piece to Mackenzie Calhoun's brilliant "When I Grow Up (To Be a Man)" and was written for the TToT 2014 Steal All the Toys challenge. In Mac's AU series, Gary Mitchell-Lifeguard, Gary washed out of the Academy during his first year and took a job as a lifeguard on the beaches of San Francisco. This takes place where Gary grew up, in Eldman, NY, right before he left for the Academy. The original, on which this piece is based, can be found at the Ad Astra Star Trek fan fiction website. Go check it out. Seriously.

Thanks, Mac, for letting me play in this universe for just a little while.

**God Only Knows**

_Promise me, Gary. Promise me that you'll do something with your life, shake the dust of Eldman off of you and go somewhere else, make a difference. You'll always be my little boy, my small soldier, but you have such great potential. Don't let it go to waste._ Gentle fingers had caressed his cheek. A wistful smile creased a face old beyond its years.

_I won't Ma, promise, _he had answered her, the remembered words of a few months ago causing him to tighten his grip on her hand and cover it with his other one as well.

He suppressed a shudder. Hospitals always gave him the heebie-jeebies, but he couldn't imagine being anywhere else at the moment. He hadn't been there for Charlotte, hadn't noticed the ever-increasing cloud of despair that was engulfing her, black, sinewy fingers clutching at her, dragging her down into its bottomless depths. He had failed her, and now his sister was gone, as much a victim of the depression that caused her to fling herself from the Jefferson Bridge into the frigid, angry waters of the Hudson as she was the child of a broken home, of missed opportunities to thrive in her own right.

_My fault._

When his mother had kicked their drunken, abusive father out of their home eight years ago, for Gary, it was as if the sun had come out for the first time in the ten years he'd been filling his lungs with the air of a little, insignificant blue ball known as Earth. Things had definitely improved in their tiny family, a change for the better, at least emotionally. Although continuing to suffer from the disadvantages of poverty and humble beginnings, they nevertheless still had each other, and their bonds to one another had strengthened and solidified, buoyed on the unconditional love that had sustained them through the years. Or so he had thought. Too late he realized this had not been the case for Charlotte.

But Gary's new-found release from the oppressive presence of an inattentive, sometimes violent and vindictive father had manifested in another way as well. As the sole male member of this new and improved Mitchell family, he had felt the need, the responsibility, more than ever, to protect the two people he held most dear in the universe—from the evils of life, from misery doled out at the hands of others or due to poor living conditions, and most importantly, from Nicholas Mitchell himself.

Since that fateful day, Nick had never again shown his face at the family's tiny apartment, but Gary couldn't shake the feeling that the man was watching, trailing them from the shadows, waiting for the right opportunity to exact his revenge on each of them for some imagined slight. He spent the first few years of his father's absence looking over his shoulder, jumping at every unusual sound, eyes round as saucers as heavy footfalls clumped down the hallway outside their apartment. He virtually flew home from school every day as fast as his ten-year-old legs would carry him, urging Charlotte to keep up, heart in his mouth, afraid that during his absence Nick had made good on his past threats to end his ex-wife's life. But as time passed, much like the memories of mistreatment at the hands of his father, these fears and sensations faded away, were relegated to a small, infrequently visited corner of his mind.

He was roused from these thoughts by a shuddering breath, a wet, rasping cough, and a painful tightening of the fingers clinging desperately to his hand. He returned the pressure, marveling at the curious mix of strength and softness he felt there, fighting against the bitter knowledge that he would never again feel it after this day. He smiled tenderly, weakly at the frail form on the biobed before him, fervently hoping that the pain and anguish that were shredding his insides hadn't made it as far as his eyes.

There was nothing else conventional medicine could do for her—at least nothing they could afford. Those with money or means would be given the option of a heart transplant, or better yet a cloned one to replace the damaged organ, but for Rebecca Mitchell, being diagnosed with congestive heart disease shortly after Charlotte's suicide had been a death knell. She'd been given six months, but had fought tenaciously for three years, clinging to life for Gary's sake, greatly relieved on the day he'd reached his eighteenth birthday. That had been four months ago and her condition had steadily deteriorated since then, almost as if she knew that prolonging the inevitable now would only drag her son down, his devotion and dedication to her preventing him from seeking the opportunities adulthood now presented him, opportunities he deserved and she longed to see him take advantage of. Opportunities Charlotte had been denied. In a way, she too had failed her oldest child. She wouldn't make the same mistake with Gary.

"It's okay, Ma. I'm here with you and I won't abandon you, promise." He looked away, not wanting her to see the unshed tears that had welled up in his eyes. Not that she was all that aware of her surroundings; she hadn't been for several hours now. As to whether that was due to the vast quantities of morphine they were pumping into her in an effort to keep her comfortable—the diuretics were no longer working; Rebecca Mitchell would meet her end by drowning in her own fluids—or a merciful side effect of the health issue that would shortly claim her life, he couldn't say.

Gary sat with her through the night, his grip on her hand never slackening, his head dropping to her chest when eyelids refused to remain open any longer. He found he was comforted by the steady rise and fall of her chest, yet alarmed by the fearsome rattle he heard in her lungs—the rattle of death.

He was roused just before dawn by a gentle touch to his shoulder. Starting badly, the panic of disorientation soon passed as he realized where he was. The thin hand in his was now dry and waxen, chilled to a level below the norm for a typical human.

"I'm sorry Mister Mitchell, but she passed peacefully half an hour ago. I didn't have the heart to wake you," an ethereal voice said from above, but he only had eyes for his mother. _She's finally at peace, no longer suffering_, he thought, once again struggling to banish tears that were all too eager to burst forth. _She spent too much of her life suffering, and not enough time enjoying the good things life had to offer. _Reverently, he released his grip; half-stood so he could plant a lingering kiss, etched with sorrow, on the cooling brow, tenderly brushed back a stray lock of hair long since gone gray.

"I hate to disturb you," the voice continued, "but as next of kin there is some paperwork we need you to complete…"

oooOOOooo

As he stood near the periphery of the tree-lined cemetery, birdsong and the buzz of insects the only sounds intruding on the sanctity of the place, he was overwhelmed by an emptiness he doubted he'd ever be able to fill.

He hadn't had the funds to get her a headstone of her own, so she and Charlotte now shared the ebony granite marker that graced his sister's final resting place, the newly laser-etched name below crisper and less weathered than that of its predecessor above.

He'd never been a praying man and wasn't about to start now, but somehow he felt their presence, their love, and knew that they were together somewhere on the other side.

"I leave for San Francisco in a week," he was startled to hear himself say out loud. "Seems I've finally been accepted to Starfleet Academy." He had been on their short list of underprivileged or orphaned youth for months; would be one of the first chosen if another candidate declined a billet at the last minute. He paused briefly. "There's no denying that Starfleet wanted me for their varsity swim team"—Gary had been captain of his high school team—"but it seems Randalman's letter of recommendation was the deciding factor." Good old Randalman. The police officer proved to be much more of a father-figure for Gary than Nicholas Mitchell had ever been. Even in these times when they were being phased out in favor of android patrolmen, their opinions still carried some weight.

Another lengthy moment of silence ensued as Gary fought to rein in raging emotions. "I'll do you both proud, I swear. The Mitchell name will stand for something other than failure and heartache," he said forcefully, his voice alive with passion. "I'll make a difference. Help others, even though I wasn't able to help either of you."

_We know you will. We believe in you, Gary, always have_, was the answer that rippled through his mind. He smiled to himself. They were indeed here with him; would be from here on out, of that he was certain.

An unusually chill breeze kicked up for the latter part of August, carrying with it the promise of autumn. As he turned to go, head down, collar flipped up against the wind, hands thrust deeply into his pockets, a small cloud reached out and swallowed the sun.


End file.
